POOR LITTLE RICH SLUM怎么样

To Dharavi. To the life that I have seen. To the people that I haven’t yet met. I Living in the vast country of India and especially the Maximum city of Mumbai, slum is something that you simply cannot avoid. It winds through every inch of the streets, grows suffocatingly along the railway tracks, displays itself under your flights and roots itself so firmly behind the high-rise apartment where you might stay. Covering forty-three percent of the city (NSS 65th Round Housing Conditions and Amenities in India, 2008-09), slums almost occupy and fill everywhere. Just one day after landing in Delhi, still ignorant in every aspect about India, I was brought to visit a slum primary school in Gurgaon by my host family. A real walk through the heart of it, not just driving past with all the prejudice outside and above. Emotionally, I indeed felt attached to the slum kids, their unfailing desire to smile and shout at the camera, and their genuine attempt to befriend you, bold or timid. But rationally, I resumed my bad old habit of being condescending and judgmental, equating it with an urban woe to be cured, and wondering why such cure remained miserably scant. My second encounter with the slums three years later was even more accidental. This time, out of sheer ignorance about Mumbai (which was exacerbated by my dormant sense of direction), I detoured for three hours only to disprove my illusion that Marine Drive was twenty minutes’ walking distance from Gateway of India along the shore. To find my way out, I walked through three slums all together. Strange enough, my first impression was neither about hygiene nor poverty, but about the colorfulness of their houses. While the alleys were so narrow as if the opposite houses were trying to hug and kiss each other, the brightness of blue, green, purple, saffron and pink only made the scene even more romantic. In one way or another, I felt that I was already enchanted by the chaotic beauty inside the slums. To explore Dharavi to the full extent would be the last substantial task that I am eager to dive into before I leave. II Why Dharavi? Because it is all too distinctive in its own right. It was the largest slum in not only India, but the entire Asia until slightly after the Hollywood blockbuster Slumdog Millionaire brought it worldwide fame and, correspondingly, global curiosity. Even now, this 557 hectare sandwich (Times of India, July 6th, 2011) is still home to three lakh people, coming to the heart of Mumbai from every aisle of the country (Our guide explained that looking at Dharavi from above, the shape of the place is just like a heart). Peripheral over the four districts of Mahim, Sion, Kurla and Kalina, it is only demarcated, and simultaneously contrasted by the fancy modernity of high-rises such as Bandra Kurla Complex and S.I. Raheja Hospital. These I already had a brief impression before my visit. What my pervious knowledge failed me was about the productivity of Dharavi: the slumdogs are not only millionaires in a blockbuster reverie, but also in real life. While the residential areas reveal no substantial difference from any other slums, the commercial areas certainly do. Coated all over under the heat, smell and dust sparkles a kaleidoscope of industries ranging from waste-sorting, plastic-processing, leather-making to khari biscuits and dish-washing soaps. It is estimated that an astonishing amount of turnover (650 million dollars) is generated in Dharavi annually. To the people congested in this already excessively overcrowded sandwich, it is a golden mine that provides bread and butter for every fresh day. It is the magical practice to make more out of the less. It is the humblest fulfillment of every ambitious Bombay dream. III The dream welcomed our exploration even before the tour started. Facing towards Dharavi on the bridge across railway tracks at Mahim Junction, the multi-colored outdoor advertisement “Welcome” is probably the first thing that catches your eyes. Already familiar with the rich brightness of the interior of the slum hubs, I was not too surprised by such a greeting. But it was still the first time that I saw a bold and lavishing arrangement of so many colors, where almost ten different colors were dispatched to deliver the single word of “Welcome,” in further contrast to the simple or even decayed material on which the colors were applied. To a large extent, this greeting heralded the tune of my whole journey within Dharavi: warm, bright and cheerful, no matter how harsh the materialistic aspects. The longer I walked through the mini lanes of Dharavi, the deeper I discovered myself enchanted, and the more I was reminded of a scene between a dhobi and a U.S.-based investment banker in my recent favorite, Dhobi Ghat. Beautifully shot under the sunset on the serene and soothing Marine Drive, the dhobi, unable to understand the banker’s obsession of little poor dirty messy neighborhoods like the Dhobi Ghat (instead of perhaps the gorgeous Necklace), mocked, “These filthy places? American streets too clean for you?” I was so stricken by this scene because, like the banker, I am equally hooked up by the daily vibrancy of places like slums and streets. And embarrassingly, I myself did not know how to tell this preference difference delicately, until this visit to Dharavi crystalized it for me. The power of life. Of simply being alive. And work. Simple as it seems, it is a power so hard to find in normal city nowadays, no matter how metropolitan it looks. When I was in Shanghai, I often felt that the people around me are either so slow in making up their minds as for what to do with their life (I am unfortunately one of them), or they set up their minds with certain goals but all too soon lost themselves in the rat race. In our glamorous metropolises that despise the existence of slums like Dharavi, we are all too often preoccupied by the troubles of life (no matter how trivial they actually are), so much as to easily lose track of the power of it. Quite differently, the power of life beats with every rhythm percussioned by Dharavi’s working hands. They do not even bother appreciating it. They simply live it to its full scale. Conditions of living and working might well be worse than one can imagine, but instead of “revolutions with flags, guns and slogans,” (PLRS, p24) which they are believed to have loads of good reasons to raise, residents in Dharavi revolute on an individual basis “where each man is striving to better his life (PLRS, p24).” The first phase of the revolution is to learn to accept and understand their circumstances. Immediately follows a determination to rise with the circumstances- where the less magically delivers more. It is humble in the sense that it could be the accomplishment of any tiny task from making 1,000 bags of plastic beams to 500 packs of dish-washing soaps. It is not fair to say that they enjoyed their work (although I wonder if in rare cases it can be true). But they know how to make the most of it. They just do it. And while doing so, they turned it into the most inspiring and powerful revolution. “The bhattis of discontent are too busy boiling color to dye fabric [while] the fists which could be in the air are busy stitching leather goods for fancy shops (PLRS, p25).” The climb from 100 rupees per day to thousands and more, from lights to fans to TV to motors…in no way are they comparable to the ascendance track anywhere else, yet just because of its strongest down-to-earth manner, it manifests the wholesome beauty of the power of life. While it is definitely not guaranteed that the ladder will knock the door of everyone in Dharavi, it is nevertheless more a success story of the community than of any individuals within. A story that is recounted and relived time and again. However, my embarrassment has not faded away even though I was happy to discover the secret of my affection towards the slums. As an outsider to Dharavi, I am afraid that I have weaved myself exactly into the trap of choosing to “see a colorful, chaotic, creatively inspirational mess” (PLRS, p7), but did not think too much about the drudgery of the livelihood. Even when I was able to discern such drudgery, the potential solutions brainstorming in my mind was all too overwhelmed by the severity of the problem. For example, what bothered me most was the utterly incredible fact that a typical communal toilet tends to be shared by over 1,400 residents. The one we approached was barely five meters away from the waste dump site. An entire hill of garbage fusioned with scattered piles of stinky muddy ponds, and various kinds of norms either budging to a peaceful death or waiting to be eaten by crows that seem to be angry all day long. When asked how frequently is the toilet cleaned, the guide explains that it is only once per month. Worse still, since the cleaning is done by the government, the slack of government employees is anything but unexpected. Sensing that it would be hard for the slum residents to voluntarily shift to more hygienic habits (“The average Dharavi resident will happily spend 10,000 rupees on a color TV, but think a hundred times before buying a water filter.” PLRS, p80), we continued to enquire if there are relevant initiatives from the side of NGOs. There are initiatives already for education, women empowerment and a lot of other issues. But when it comes to hygiene, the answer, sadly, is no. Outsider as I am, I am not even in the right position to feel furious: just as the ghastly situation itself, the difficulty of launching any such program is also beyond one’s imagination. To make it simpler, just assume yourself to be a WHO project manager in charge of one such program. It happens that to set the initiative rolling, you need to sweep and mop the toilets personally. The trailblazing nature of the program means that what awaits you would be the “impressive” accumulation of the old habits of over 1,400 inhabitants. Can you see yourself taking up the challenge, or is it too disgusting to imagine?! I only hope that at least someone will dare to choose the former. Or, as a graduate of law and economics of development who intends to work with the United Nations, I hope that one day I am courageous and capable of contributing my due efforts. Another drudgery lies in the dilemma of long-debated slum rehabilitation. Unlike the sheer silence over the hygiene issue, tons of saliva has flown out of the lip service of politicians, only to contrast a totally unmatched record of substantive action. But just as it is more open to public discussion, the ideas related to this issue are more constructive and thus inspiring. I really like the idea of Kamla Raheja Vidyanidhi Institute of Architecture and Environmental Studies (KRVIA) treating Dharavi as a Special Economic Zone as described in Poor Little Rich Slum (PLRS Chapter 26). Under this scheme, Dharavi is no longer a piece of land which can be divided and handed over carelessly. Rather, it acknowledges Dharavi as “a collection of small pockets,” each with a unique character and should be developed according to the need of its residents. While negotiating with a government that is so entrenched with industrial interest remains the toughest task, once you have felt the deeply-bounded affiliation between this place and its people, that “we don’t want to move somewhere else (PLRS, p25)”, you will tend to believe that in the end, people here will figure their way out. That, for me, is simply another reflection of the power of Dharavi life. IV Dharavi also makes me reflect upon my own country. Which is weird, because in China we don’t have such things as Dharavi. Slums are conventionally avoided, if not officially banned in a country that fancies itself so much with the idea of magnificent urban rush. Above all, we are a people who care about “saving faces” to a great extent, while the Chinese translation of the word “slum” (贫民窟, Pin Min Ku) clearly conveys the message of poverty. Actually, I do remember some houses which functionally resembled slums (though the most up-scale ones) in my childhood. I am sure that you can still find some scattered in different corners of my city, despite on an ever-decreasing basis. I used to hear my grandma call them “private houses” (opposite to the “public house” where I live, which is built and owned by government but only lease to tenants for terms as long as half a century). Located in the center of the city while inconsistent with the megacity image that Shanghai wants to boast, being demolished is their one and only doomed fate. And the people relocated. With some compensation they migrated to suburban areas much farther away. Now I wonder if they ever felt nostalgic about the place where they used to root and grow. Unfortunately, I don’t know any artist paying homage to Shanghai over the economic reform the way Doisneau did for Paris. Yet if you recourse to official media instead, you will inevitably find everyone to be happy, that they fully acknowledge the importance of the development of their city as well as their sacrifice involved, and that they are proud of the city as it is now- isn’t is so that rational economic development is meant to downplay emotional factors, no matter how strong it appears?! More specifically for the Shanghaiese who used to live in city-center “slums”, should they feel lucky to be the citizens of a cleaner and more modern metropolis? Or should they feel tragic that nowhere can they voice their nostalgia about their old places, let alone to defend it? Should they turn pale that they cannot even remedy the lost affiliation? It is all up to you to balance the forever difficult trade-off. It was only then that I recognized a similar power of life from those relocated Shanghaiese. Like the people in Dharavi, they too accepted life as it is. Rather than launching a loud and proactive revolution, they as well chose to focus on their own individual betterment. Being more educated than their Dharavi counterparts, they participated more in urban sectors with a higher added-value. The improvement of livelihood, accordingly, is more in the form of purchasing real estate and vehicles, holding stocks and other financial instruments, enjoying overseas holidays and securing every aspects of their life with insurances. While they sadly lost their community identity, in a larger picture, they are all builders and architectures indispensable to the transformation and upgrading of this oriental pearl that is cherished by the whole world. It is them that define the character of their city, more than any of the high-rises, neon lights and grandeur shopping malls do. In an even larger picture, this is how the entire China is defined and boomed. True, we don’t have Dharavi-like slums officially. However, the Dharavi-style entrepreneurship, the striving spirit and the power of life in general, is seen and felt everywhere all over the country, which is as respectful as the one I saw in Dharavi. Having discovered this, I feel so proud to be the compatriots of these people, and so eager to devote more time studying and sharing their experience. This, itself, is a sign that I have to go back. It is time to leave. V I left Dharavi after the two-hour tour. I am not sure when I will return, although my heart has so craved immediately after I stepped out. I wish I will know more the next time I am here. But I was persuaded by myself simultaneously that it would just be another wishful utopia of mine. For just as the metaphor that is beautifully paraphrased in Poor Little Rich Slum, Dharavi is such a huge fat elephant that we, blinded by our occupation and identity, are bounded to neglect some aspect or others despite our endeavors. Yet on the other hand, isn’t the whole country of India like this as well? Ramachandra Guha insightfully summarizes the heterogeneity of Indian society into three axes of diversity (religion, language and region) mingled with and multiplied by three axes of disparity (caste, gender and class). Although no major conflicts occurred ever since the mohalla movement started by Waqarbhai and Bhau Korde, it is not a bit unexpected that such heterogeneity is preserved, if not intensified in a place as dynamic as Dharavi. The “Muslim” areas are supposed to be different from the “Hindu” areas (our guide told us that now it is common to see a Muslim building a Hindu temple. And I was refrained by my unjustified sense of politeness from asking if the opposite also happens and if not, why…), while the Gujirat-origined Kumbharwada is supposed to differ from “Compound 13.” Indians have long acknowledged their heterogeneity as the notes to be coordinated into a fantastic symphony. In a similar vein, the dynamic Dharavi should never be viewed as a woe to be cured. Nor should it be treated as an integrated piece of cake with the same flavor all over. Unfortunately, the former was what Sanjay Gandhi had committed in 1976 (although it was targeted at slums in Delhi), while the latter had misled the Dharavi Redevelopment Project (DRP) for decades. Fortunately, heterogeneity of Dharavi is gradually receiving more awareness, as demonstrated by the innovative proposal of seeing it as a Special Economic Zone. This awareness would by no means be an insurance of the future of Dharavi. Nothing is, and nothing can be, except the sweat and blood of Dharavi’s own people. Nevertheless, it is still significant and positive enough to be the cornerstone upon which all the progress can rely. Don’t forget that encouraging hope is something that Dharavi has never failed, and will never fail to do. Years later, a different me will be curious and all the same excited to see a different Dharavi, although there are certainly other aspects that remain unchanged. You see? I am already accumulating the rationales to justify my return.